Phone Calls
by Kierastarlight
Summary: I started this last season - I wanted more of Castiel calling Dean, more of Dean dealing with his heartbreak about Sam, and more of Castiel looking for God. Takes place right after 5.02. Possible slash.
1. Chapter 1

**This takes place in Season 5, right after episode 5.02, when Dean and Sam split up for awhile. Dean is dealing with the heartbreak from his brother's betrayal and Castiel is trying to find God.**

Dean flipped his cell phone open and snapped it shut immediately. It was early morning, dew still on the grass, birds were chirping, and the picnic table seat was cold to his ass. He remembered the other picnic table where he had last seen Sam.

The desire to call his brother and check on him had only lasted a short moment, thank goodness for that. It was more of a reflex; something deeply ingrained in his brain after all those years of always looking out for Sammy. In actuality he didn't want to talk to his brother at all. The heartache he felt from Sam's betrayal locked around Dean like a tight cage, squeezing him, showing no mercy. It was kind of like Alastair, that bastard. Dean felt some relief with Sam gone. The cage bars seemed farther away, gave him room to breathe.

Yet, he felt alone as well. He thought of Castiel, and what he had done for Dean, which was everything. He'd disobeyed for Dean, and even killed some of his fellow angels to protect Dean. Now there's someone who is devoted to me, Dean thought. Dean understood devotion. He'd always been devoted to his father, and to Sam. Dean rolled his eyes. He tried to keep them from tearing up. Fuck, he thought. Gotta move forward, there is an apocalypse to stop. But he thought of Castiel briefly with warmth. That angel was so naïve and innocent about some things, but you had to give him credit for knowing how to be devoted to someone.

His phone rang, and he half expected it was Sam. He groaned inwardly. He saw Castiel's name on the Caller ID and wondered what kind of phone he had gotten for himself.

"Hello?" Dean said.

"Dean."

"Yeah, this is Dean, hi Cas. So, did you find your God yet? Was he in a tortilla after all? Did my amulet light up when you passed through the grocery store?"

"I didn't call you to waste time with ridiculous banter."

"Well hell, if you're worried about your precious cell phone minutes, we can get off the phone now." Dean regretted saying it after it came out of his mouth. He was going to have to remember not to be so sharp tongued with Castiel. Dean himself was getting tired of his own knee-jerk aloofness when it came to Castiel.

"Do you want my help or not?"

"Yeah. Yeah I do, Cas," Dean said.

"Tell me where you are."

"I don't know, some rest area in Colorado? I haven't exactly left the state yet."

Within moments, Castiel was standing next to him. "How did you find me so fast? I was pretty damn vague," Dean said.

"There are a finite number of rest areas in the state of Colorado. I went to each one to look for you. Well, until I got to this one. This was the fourth."

"So how are you going to help me?" Dean asked. "And why don't you sit down? I can see you better that way. I'm straining my stiff neck."

"Why is your neck stiff?" Castiel asked.

"I don't know, stress?"

Castiel walked behind Dean and pressed several fingers into his neck. "I can't heal you as I used to be able to, but I know some ancient techniques. This should relieve the tension immediately." He stood there and massaged Dean's neck, kneading out some kinks. True to his word, Dean felt some relief right away.

"Since when do you have the magic fingers?" Dean asked.

"I used to have to babysit a masseuse in China eons ago. I got bored and observed his technique."

"You – you were a babysitter? To a man? What was that all about?"

"It's a long, boring story, Dean. Well, I suppose it had its points of amusement. But I didn't come here to talk to you about that."

Castiel stopped the massage and sat down next to Dean. He missed the warmth of Castiel's fingers and the sensation of tension sliding away.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said, slowly, and cleared his throat.

"Yes?"

"I wanted to – thank you, for you know, what you did. For me." Dean met Castiel's eyes sincerely.

"I hope I don't live to regret it," Castiel said sternly.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Well that's the last time I get all touchy-feely with you, Cas. You just ruined it."

Castiel leaned in closer. Their noses were almost touching. Dean could smell his breath. It smelled…nice. Not like mouthwash or sour breath. More like the good smells of a newborn baby.

"What do you want from me, Dean?" Castiel asked.

"Nothing," Dean said. "Well, you could get that damn stick out of your ass. Bobby too. What is with everyone having a stick in their ass lately? Even I have one. I can't seem to stand my brother at the moment." Dean rubbed his face with both hands.

Castiel seemed to soften then. He leaned back. "Maybe things can be amended with everyone somehow. Even for Bobby, and for you and Sam. I'm not fond of what happened, the start of the apocalypse, but I do want to help you."

"Thanks." Dean paused for a moment. Castiel's gaze on Dean was tighter than the grip of death, as usual. He shook his head, as if that action could shake Castiel's gaze off of him. It didn't work. Castiel just tilted his head with a curious look.

"So, what have you learned with my amulet?" Dean asked, before Castiel could ask any questions.

"I haven't found God yet, if that's what you're wondering."

"Have you found – anything?"

"No." Castiel looked down, showing his disappointment. "I even have fears that what you said to me could be true. That God – is dead."

"Hey, I was mostly joking about that. I realize I was pretty cold hearted. He is your dad, and all. I hope you find him." He looked straight out at the mountains. "For all of our sakes."

"Me too," Castiel whispered. Then he stood straighter, looked Dean right in the eyes again, and spoke with inner strength. "I will not give up. I believe only perseverance on our parts will help us win this battle."

"I came to tell you I may have a lead," Castiel continued. He looked away and gazed at the bristly mountainside. "Some of the angels are showing curiosity in me. I do not know if I can trust them yet. Since I've recently killed some of my brothers, they may just want me dead. But they say they want to find God, and think that perhaps he is the one that resurrected me."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"Confront a garrison of angels that might be hiding something. It will be very dangerous."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you doing it?"

"Dean, if you do end up becoming Michael's vessel, you will die. I'm trying to find an alternative for you. And, I want to find God."

"So you're doing this for me?" Dean said.

"Partially, yes. I care about the bulk of humanity as well."

"The bulk, huh." Dean let out a short, dry laugh. "There's a handful you don't care for then. Who are they?"

"_Dean_." Castiel's version of a glare, which was his usual piercing stare turned up a few notches, cut Dean short.

"Okay, okay, you're not in the mood for jokes or good times. Boy, do you need to loosen up." The glaring continued. "Cas, dammit, would you stop looking at me that way? Or I'll give you a reason to glare!"

Castiel looked down. Dean stood up and stomped around, trying to warm up his legs and give his ass a break from that freezing bench. "You think you're going to get killed?" Dean asked. "On this mission of yours?"

"It's likely. I want you to know I may be calling you for advice, if I need it, at any hour of the day or night."

"Okay, you got my number," Dean said jokingly, but he was saying it to himself, because Castiel was suddenly gone.

"Do you ever say goodbye?" He shouted at Castiel, even though he knew he wouldn't hear it.

The motel room was quiet. It felt unnatural to have no other sounds in the room. Sam wasn't tapping away on his laptop in the next bed. Hell, there wasn't even a next bed. Dean still had to stop himself every time he was ordering a room to keep from asking for two doubles.

Dean thought about turning on the TV for noise, but he didn't really feel like watching anything. So he took off his watch and started to pull off his shoes when his cell rang.

The ID said Castiel. Dean wondered again which cell phone service an angel of the Lord would choose. "Cas?" he said.

"Hello, Dean. How are you this evening?" Castiel said.

"Um, great. So…how are you, Cas?"

"I think I have a problem, Dean,"

Dean started wondering if this was the kind of problem that would keep his head from hitting the pillow tonight, but it wouldn't be the first time in the life of a Winchester, that was for sure.

"What is it, Cas?"

"I need somewhere to hide."

"What's going on?" Dean asked.

"Can I come see you in person? These cell phone minutes…"

"Yeah. Sure." Dean told him the location of the motel and Dean was looking at Castiel's face before he had a chance to flip the phone shut. He looked like he'd been sweating. His bangs were wet and his face gleamed with moisture.

"Okay, tell me what's been happening, Cas," Dean said.

"It's going to sound…odd," Castiel said.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Who are you talking to, Cas? You think I've never heard an odd thing in my life?"

Castiel continued to stand, and Dean motioned him to sit down. "My neck, remember Cas?"

"Do you need me to rub it again?" Castiel asked.

"No, I mean, maybe," Dean said, once he remembered the relief he'd felt last time. "I meant, please sit, Cas. So I don't have to look up."

Castiel sat down on the bed. "I believe God is in hiding," Castiel said.

Dean nodded. "I think we may have determined that already," Dean said.

"No, Dean, you don't understand," Castiel said. "In order for God to hide, he would need to take a vessel."

"So we need to find God's meat suit?"

"God is too powerful to have one vessel," Castiel said. "I believe he is hiding in several vessels at once. Quite possibly in different locations around the world."

Dean nodded, and then laughed. "Well, then you have your work cut out for you. Have fun finding all of God's vessels."

"I will be doing this without your assistance?" Castiel said.

Dean stood up. He was suddenly feeling antsy. "How did you come to this conclusion, Cas? About God? And why do you need to go into hiding?"

Castiel rubbed the sweat off of his forehead. "I'm tired of killing, Dean. I don't want to kill angels anymore. Not tonight."

"Things…got…messy tonight?" Dean asked.

"Yes, they did. Please, Dean, I need you to help me hide tonight. I'm tired and I want to rest. I can't hide anywhere in heaven."

Castiel looked so broken and vulnerable. Dean sat back down on his bed. "Can you hide in another vessel?" Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head. "This body would be vacant if I left it alone too long, and would decay. Also, taking another human vessel isn't easy. For tonight, it's certainly not an option."

"I don't know, Cas," Dean said. "I don't know where an angel can hide."

"I want to hide with you, Dean. Your Enochian sigil keeps you hidden from angels. I want you to draw the Enochian symbols on my back with this marker," Castiel took a Sharpie out of his trenchcoat pocket. "Then tomorrow I'll need you to help scrub it off in the morning."

"Oh, no you don't, Cas," Dean said. "I'm not helping you in the shower. Let's write it on your chest, and then you can scrub yourself off in the morning. Do you have a hairy chest?" Dean hoped the answer was no.

Castiel shook his head. He removed his trenchcoat and white dress shirt silently, and the t-shirt underneath it. He handed Dean the Sharpie and took out a piece of paper from his pant pocket.

"Try not to make a mistake, Dean. If you do, we'll have to write it on my back."

Dean looked at the paper and observed that Castiel's handwriting was very neat. He hoped he didn't expect Dean to live up to the same standard.

"Are you sure you want to use this Sharpie?" Dean asked. "If we use it, you're going to have a heck of a time scrubbing it off in the morning."

"What do you suggest?" Castiel said weakly, barely taking a moment to look up at Dean, which was _so_ not Cas. He was looking mostly at the floor with a blank expression.

Dean felt a sudden rush of compassion for the angel. He really didn't look or sound good tonight.

"How about a ball-point pen? They wash off a little bit too easily, I found to my dismay after I'd written the beautiful Amanda Kerstock's phone number on my hand."

Castiel nodded and Dean carefully began to copy what he saw on the paper onto Castiel's chest. Both of them were silent the whole time, and it took Dean about fifteen minutes to complete the task.

After capping the pen, Dean asked, "Do you blame me, Cas? For having to kill angels today." Dean's voice wasn't confrontational, it was laden with guilt.

"I don't want to talk about it tonight, Dean," Castiel said.

Castiel put his shirts and trenchcoat back on, and told Dean he would just sit quietly in the chair next to the wall, because he didn't need to sleep.

Dean lied down and closed his eyes. He was glad he could hear someone else breathing in the room besides himself. The motel room just hadn't felt right without it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the reviews! I was pleasantly surprised to get them. One review was asking if I could keep this story as friendship & not slash – well, I'm considering it. Haven't made up my mind yet, and the story is still in the stage that it could go either way. So glad this has some readers already!**

Castiel was still there in the morning, staring straight out into space with a haunted look. "I need to use the shower now and wash off the sigil," Castiel said when he saw Dean was awake.

"Knock yourself out," Dean said. "But let me take a leak first."

When Castiel was finished with his shower, Dean asked, "So what was this you were saying last night about God being in several vessels at once? How do you know this?"

Castiel was pulling his trench coat on. "I'll have to tell you later, Dean. I need to get going now." He disappeared immediately.

"Don't forget to close the door behind you," Dean called out, shaking his head.

Dean knew that he was responsible for stopping the apocalypse, but he had no idea what he was supposed to do about it. He decided for now he would continue hunting. Maybe later, Castiel would give him some idea of what needed to be done.

He drove to Louisiana when he heard from a fellow hunter that they needed help with a particularly nasty werewolf. Of course, just the thought of a werewolf reminded Dean of Sam and Madison, well mostly of Sam. Dean felt the tightening in his chest and resisted going through his mind again Sam's betrayal. He tried to think of something else, and his mind wandered to Castiel. He hoped the angel was alright. He also thought of Bobby with some pity. God knows Dean himself would be going out of his mind if he couldn't walk. He hoped somehow, miraculously, Bobby could be healed. Maybe, Dean thought, Cas would find God, God would agree to heal Bobby, and they'd all live happily ever after.

Dean chuckled at his little joke. Damn, they'd be lucky to even live after all this was over, he thought.

That evening in the motel room, he wondered if Castiel was going to come back for more hiding. He never showed up. He even looked at Castiel's number on his cell, and wondered if he should try calling him, but then thought it could cause problems if he was in the middle of something important. Dean went to sleep wondering both what Castiel and Sam were up to at the moment. He even wondered if they were thinking about him.

Days went by, and those hunters had been right about it being a nasty werewolf. Dean came out of it just shy of a broken leg and a nasty cut on his forehead that needed stitches. He was sorry when it was over though, because he realized he missed having someone to talk to. Not enough to call Sam, though. He considered calling Castiel again, but didn't bother. He did try to call Bobby, but he was as sociable as a hermit crab.

One night he was lying down again and his cell phone rang as soon as he closed his eyes. It was Cas. He felt relief that the angel was alright, and picked up the phone quickly.

"Cas?" he said into the phone.

Moments later, Castiel was there with him after he knew how to get there. "I hope you have time to explain what's been going on," Dean said.

Castiel sat down and started loosening his tie. "First, write the Enochian sigil on me, please."

Cas looked bedraggled. Worse than that, like he'd been to hell and back. No, worse than that even, because Dean saw him once when he'd been to hell and back and had taken the time then to fix his hair. Now it was just a clotted mess of sweat on his forehead.

Castiel's chest was drenched in sweat. Dean grabbed a towel from the bathroom and dabbed it dry before writing the sigil on it. They were both silent, but once Dean was finished, Castiel said, "You've put up an emotional wall between yourself and your brother."

"Yeah, so? When something's bad for you, the shields are up. Just like on Star Trek."

Castiel tilted his head quizzically at that comment, and said, "You must be able to talk to your brother soon. You must face your feelings on what has happened and move on."

Dean shook his head. "I don't agree. And I don't really want to have a sharing and caring session tonight on my feelings, either, Cas. Let's talk about whether or not you're finding God."

"Dean, stop being such a stubborn, macho ass," Castiel said gruffly. Dean was surprised. "You _must _face your brother soon. And I know you love him. You died for him, went to hell for him."

"And he chose a demon over me!" Dean said angrily. "What kind of a brother does that, when we've been so close, we'd do anything for each other?"

"This isn't about him Dean," Castiel said. "This is about you."

"What? What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?" Dean nearly slammed his fist on a bedside table. "Goddamn, don't do this to me Cas, not now. You have _no _idea how I feel. How dare you suggest I don't have a right to be angry at my brother!"

"I never said that, Dean. I'm talking about the fact that you don't consider yourself worthy of the same consideration that you gave him."

"Huh?"

"You think this is about the fact that Sam walked out on you, but what's really getting to you is how you feel about yourself. Sam wasn't in his right mind when he walked out on you, Dean. Just face the fact that you have issues about your self worth, and when you do, it will be easier for you to talk to Sam."

"_What_? Dean rolled his eyes so hard, it almost hurt. "Why _thank you_, _Dr. Phil_, but you can take this counseling session and shove it!"

"Dean, stop putting up walls! You have a job to do, and you're going to need Sam's help."

"It just doesn't work like that Cas! Things take time, goddammit! You don't understand a thing about being human, so just shut up, alright? I can't just let this go. Not when it hurts this much." Dean's voice tapered down from a yell to a mumble."

"I'm not exactly in the mood to argue with you right now either, Dean," Castiel said. "I'm tired. Trying to find God is taking all my strength."

"Yeah, well, tell me about that. Get comfortable. Tell me about your wild adventures of looking for God."

"I'm doing this for _you_, Dean. I'm not doing this for fun and games."

"You don't have to take me so seriously, Cas."

"Sometimes, I wish I didn't." Castiel leaned back in his chair. "I'm going to rest now. I need my strength for tomorrow."

"I thought you were going to tell me what you've been up to?" Dean said. Castiel's eyes were closed and he didn't answer. "Cas, are you okay?"

"Later," Castiel mumbled out.

When Dean woke up the next morning, Castiel was already gone. Dean felt some annoyance. He barely knew what Castiel was up to. He really had wanted to know how his search for God was going. Well, he told himself, maybe next time I'll learn something.

Dean called Bobby to check on him, and got the same dead end he did last time. Doesn't even care that I'm checking on him, Dean thought. It was depressing. Nothing was the same anymore. Not Bobby, and not Sam. Not knowing what was happening with Sam was gnawing at Dean constantly. Dean longed for the days when he and Sam would be fighting something really nasty together, something so bad they had to call Bobby for advice. Back then, Dean thought they had it rough. Now it looked like the good ole times.

The itch to be taking care of someone was overwhelming Dean, so he looked through a newspaper and found something mysterious going on in Delaware. He hit the road, surrounding himself with what he had left for comfort – his music and some apple pie.

Dean called Bobby again later from a rest stop. "I'm still the same, Dean," Bobby said. "I haven't been able to do anything. I'm stuck in a wheelchair!"

"Well, can't you research in your books or something, for crying out loud? I've got an apocalypse to stop and I haven't the slightest clue how to stop it!"

"Gee Dean, I guess I could do that, rather than sitting here twiddling my thumbs like I have been for the past several weeks!"

"Geez, Bobby, then why didn't you _say _something then each time I called you? What is your problem? First Cas, now you. I can't even have a normal conversation with anyone anymore."

"Well, that's just too bad, Dean. But forget about me. What's going on with Cas? Is he finding God with that amulet? At least he has more to do than finding several dead ends like I've been finding."

Just the mention of the amulet struck a heartstring with Dean. It reminded him so much of Sam that it hurt. Every day he noticed the spot on his chest where the amulet was supposed to be, just like he noticed Sam not in the room, not in the car, and not calling him on the phone. Dean swallowed his feelings for the umpteenth time.

"What dead ends? What have you been looking up for me, Bobby? I – I am grateful, you know. I need all the help I can get."

Bobby described briefly how he was trying to find out more about any legends or lore on vessels for Michael.

"Oh yeah, Cas said that if Michael took me as his vessel, I would die. Well, he can bite me. Michael that is. Not Cas."

"I did find out that much, too. But I need to look into more of what's going on. I'll call you. Wait. First tell me about Cas."

"Wish I could – I barely know anything myself. Oh wait – he says God could be in several vessels. He's looking for them. Says God's too powerful to reside in one vessel."

That caught Bobby's interest. He told Dean he'd look into that too, and they hung up. Dean felt a little better, now that he'd had a real conversation with someone.


	3. Chapter 3

Calling Sam was on the tip of Dean's mind for days later. He didn't want to do it, but the urge was constantly there. Dean had just finished a rather successful hunt, which involved a haunted boathouse on the coast of Delaware. It reminded Dean of the time he and Sam took care of that ghost ship. Just seeing the docks and the boats had Dean reminiscing about old times. Seeing Sam dance with that old lady that one night had been a riot. She couldn't keep her hands off of Sam. Dean found himself laughing out loud at the memory. Dean would have given anything at that moment to be back in those days – when they were brothers that would do anything for each other - even putting up with Bella again.

But still didn't want to call him. Just habit, Dean told himself. When he finally couldn't stop fighting the need to call, he picked up his phone one night at the Owl's View Inn and selected Castiel's name and phone number.

It rang four times and Dean was about to hang up, when he heard Castiel weakly answer the phone. "Hello," he said.

"Cas, you okay?' Dean asked. "Where are you?"

"In Africa, following a lead. Things aren't going well, though, and there is a lack of drinking water here."

"You need to drink now?"

"Sometimes, yes."

Castiel ducked because he thought he could hear an arrow whistling through the air. "Dean, I've got to get off the phone now," he said.

Castiel transported to a safer location, about a mile from the thicket he'd been in, and realized his energy was getting low. He barely accomplished the transport. His phone rang while he was debating on whether or not to take a break.

It was Dean. "Dean," Castiel said.

"How on earth is your cell phone getting service over in Africa?"

"It's an international satellite cell phone," Castiel said.

"Wait a minute, you buy yourself a ritzy international cell phone and you're worried about minutes?"

"I'll explain it to you later, Dean. Tell me where you are, and I'll transport there when I have more energy."

Castiel turned off the phone and started to walk along a dirt footpath. He wondered how he was going to get closer to the hut that was back in the thicket. Every time he tried to get close, arrows flew at him. He decided the only way was to transport straight in, and he didn't have the energy for that, not now. He sat down on a fallen tree and closed his eyes, and waited a couple hours, wishing he had something to drink with him.

Castiel appeared in Dean's motel room after midnight. He slunk into a chair and stared at the floor. His trench coat was dirty, his face was scratched, and his hair was a mess. Sweat poured down his face, and his white dress shirt was soaked with it.

And he stank. Human perspiration had soured on him, causing Dean to wave his hand in front of his face. "You might want to take a shower after I get you a drink of water," he said.

Castiel just sat there. Didn't look up at Dean. Dean moved to go get a fresh and cold water bottle from the tiny motel refrigerator. He handed it to Castiel, and he gulped it down, spilling some of it on his shirt.

"What was this lead? You find one of God's vessels?" Dean asked.

"I might have."

"What was God supposedly in, a lion? You look pretty roughed up."

Castiel finally looked up. "No, an important tribesman. Things got ugly before I could determine a satisfying answer."

"Look at you, Cas, you're sweating like crazy. Did you run around with that coat on and long sleeves in that heat?"

"Yes," Castiel said. "It was uncomfortably warm. About 108 degrees."

"Jesus." Dean said. "Learn to dress for the weather, Cas," he said kindly. Dean got up and turned off the heat in the room. "That ought to help. You really should get those clothes off. Do you ever have to do laundry?"

"No, but maybe this time I will," Castiel said, glancing down at the sweat stain on his shirt. He didn't move though, just stared vacantly at the floor.

Dean went over to Castiel and tugged at his arm. "Come on, get this stuff off." Dean pulled at the trench coat sleeve until it was completely off Castiel's arm. Castiel looked so worn out that Dean continued to help him take off his shirts. He had a total of four layers on, the trench coat, a black suit jacket, a white dress shirt, and a t-shirt underneath it.

Castiel still looked despondent, so Dean snapped his fingers in front of his face. Cas looked up briefly and then looked back down.

"Okay, into a cool tub of water for you. I'm afraid you could have heat stroke," Dean said. He went to the bathroom and turned on the faucet, checking the water temperature to make sure it was cool, but not too cold. When it was adequately full, Dean went to fetch Castiel.

Castiel managed to walk to the tub on Dean's arm, and undid his own pants. Dean looked straight at his face, not wanting to look at Castiel's nakedness. He helped Cas into the tub and said, "Don't drown. And here's your water bottle. I'll be in the next room."

Dean couldn't fall asleep, worried that Castiel could possibly drown or slip trying to get out of the tub. So Dean pulled up a chair near the door and kept his eye on him after all. "So how is it you can get affected like a human these days?" Dean asked.

Castiel spoke to him with his eyes closed. "My powers are diminishing. I can still transport, I can still do many other things, but I seem to have a limited quota of energy allowed to me. I end up needing water at times to compensate, and resting as well. I'm not quite human though, because I do not need to eat."

"So, now that I've got you cornered, tell me about how you knew God could be in this tribe-dude. And how you got a spiffy cell phone."

"I stole the phone from a dead man and had the service provider change the name to mine on it. He used to be a spy, and the phone doesn't receive any calls, other than from you. It has a limited number of minutes on it though. I don't t have the funds to – what do you call it, refill it?"

Dean snickered at the thought of Castiel stealing a phone. "So tell me more about God. And no disappearing this time!" 

Castiel opened his eyes and looked down at himself. "I'm hardly in appropriate attire to disappear at the moment."

Dean snickered harder at that thought.

Castiel looked down at the water, and grabbed the soap on the ledge of the tub. Taking Dean's advice, he freshened himself up as he talked.

"I went to see Chuck."

"Whoa. You went to see Chuck, and you didn't turn into chunky soup again?"

Castiel frowned at the odd reference. "I mean, the archangel didn't blast you away?" Dean explained further.

"No, and I was able to ask Chuck if he'd written anything in his story about God. He told me he'd just started a new chapter. About how one of God's vessels was in Africa. He hadn't gotten very far though, he told me he had only 'pounded out' a couple paragraphs."

"Huh." Dean said. "Wonder why you were able to get info out of Chuck without a scene from an archangel or Zachariah? What made you decide to go there in the first place, after you got blown to smithereens the last time you were there?"

Castiel shrugged. "Chuck seemed like a reasonable place to go, when I couldn't get answers out of any angels. I'm still surprised I'm alive afterwards, myself."

.

"You really the tribesman is one of God's vessels?" Dean asked.

"Possibly." Castiel looked haunted as he said it. Dean recognized that look.

"You think God's dead," Dean said. Dean leaned over and gave him a look of understanding.

"Possibly," Castiel said again. He was silent after that.

"Need a beer?' Dean asked. "They're good for times like these."

Castiel continued to look sullenly at the water in the tub. "But he has to be alive. Who else could have brought me back from the dead?"

"I don't know, Lucifer, another angel? You do have a point there."

"If Lucifer's the one that brought me back, he's made no move to speak to me or coerce me."

"So tell me about this God stuff. How do you know about this particular tribesman being a candidate when Africa is so huge?"

"Metatron told me." Castiel said.

Metatron, Castiel explained, was an archangel.

"Metatron? I thought you said you weren't getting any answers out of any angels," Dean said.

"Chuck's short two paragraphs contained a sentence that said that Metatron took neither side in the war between Michael and Lucifer, and that he only wished to find his missing father. So I went to him."

"How do you know you can trust him? This could all be a set up, through Chuck."

Castiel nodded briefly. "That could be. But he was my only hope. Everyone else either is following orders from Michael and Zachariah's group, or considering betraying the angels altogether by following Lucifer. Brothers I have been with for years have already betrayed me."

"Lousy times," Dean said. "You just made my own problems pale in comparison."

"I think our problems are one in the same," Castiel said. "We're both feeling disconnected from everyone. Well, except from each other." Castiel looked over at Dean gratefully. "And we have the coming apocalypse on our shoulders."

"Yeah, well, don't remind me. Tell me for once what all this means, I mean, God being in several vessels and all."

"It could mean several things," Castiel said. "Could you help me out of the tub first? I feel like I've cooled down sufficiently."

"Yeah, sure." Dean stood up and grabbed the arm closest to him. "Alright, stand up."

Castiel schooched around a bit in the tub, and then finally lifted himself upward. Dean averted his eyes again from seeing Castiel's nakedness. Cas asked for a towel, and Dean grabbed one, then turned around back to face Castiel and he was shivering uncontrollably.

Dean handed Castiel the towel quickly. "Start drying yourself off. Now you're getting a chill."

"Now don't faint. Because I'm going to go into the other room and wait for you to get dressed. I've seen enough naked men in my life looking at myself. I don't need to see anymore."

"You like looking at yourself?" Castiel asked while he dried.

"No, Cas, it was a joke. I told you not to take me so seriously."

Castiel came into the main room with pants on and a t-shirt. He sat down eagerly on the bed, lay down, and closed his eyes.

"I guess you want the bed tonight," Dean said.

No answer.

"So, when are you going to tell me about God and his vessels? And why haven't you asked me to put the sigil on yet?"

"Please do that now." Castiel rolled from his side to his back so his chest was upward. He pulled up his shirt enough for Dean to be able to write. Dean pulled out the sigil paper from his stuff and grabbed a pen. Leaned over, and tried to write. The pen slipped easily as Dean started writing.. "You're still wet, Cas," Dean said. He rubbed Castiel's chest somewhat with his dry hand. "Well, maybe not now."

Dean started to write again, and then sat up.

"No. You're going to tell me about the vessels and God first. Otherwise I might never hear it," Dean said.

"Dean, it's been over an hour that I've been here. I'm like a lighthouse in a sea of darkness – Zachariah will find me if he gets close enough. Hurry up and put the sigil on. I don't want him to find me, and I especially don't want him to find you."

Dean didn't move right away. "I'll tell you more of what's going on afterwards. I promise, Dean."

"Okay." Dean leaned back in and gently and neatly wrote the sigil onto Castiel's chest, which was tricky, because Castiel was taking deep breaths, as if he really needed the oxygen.

"So you need oxygen now too Cas?" Dean decided to ask. "You're breathing really hard."

"I suppose." Castiel didn't add any more to that answer. Dean was really missing his talkative brother now. Trying to get answers out of Cas was like pulling teeth.

Dean quietly finished the sigil, put the paper and pen away, and sat on the chair nearby. "Alright, time to spill the beans, Cas. I did my part, now you do yours. Talk. I think the last thing we were talking about was, why is God suddenly taking several vessels? You said it could mean many things."

Castiel tried lifting his head so he could look at Dean, but found he didn't have the energy to hold it up. Dean got up for a moment and put a pillow up behind his head, so that Castiel could sit up slightly.

"Thanks, Dean," Castiel said. "Well, to answer your question, God may be hiding from Lucifer himself. He's certainly hiding from other angels. I found this out when I was in Africa today. I went on that lead I had, but I had trouble determining if the tribesman I saw was God or not."

"Could you have asked?" Dean said. "And what made you think it could be him?"

"I did attempt to ask, I'll explain that in a moment. And Metatron had told me I would see a certain Enochian symbol on the vessels. This tribesman had that symbol painted on himself, but then so had at least three others of his tribesman."

"So I asked the lead tribesman in Enochian if he was Divine. He turned and looked at me, which I took to be a good sign, but then ordered in his native language for me to be killed."

"Maybe he didn't understand a word you said, and just didn't like the looks of you," Dean said. "Or the fact you weren't speaking his own language.

"Dean, I failed to tell you that Enochian cannot be heard by ordinary human ears. Well, I suppose by some like you, that hear it as a high frequency screech."

"Oh yeah, that. Well, please don't speak to me in that language again. My ears were about to bleed the last time." Dean rolled his eyes at the memory. "Well then, if he heard a nasty screech coming out of you, no wonder he wanted you dead."

"I doubt any of the tribesman would have even heard the screech. The fact that the lead tribesman turned towards me gave me hope. I was thinking he was God, that he heard me. Until he wanted me dead. It seemed to paradoxical, that the same God who brought me back to life wanted me dead…"

"Dude," Dean interrupted. "Did you just walk up to them? He probably turned his head because you showed up."

"They had been shooting arrows at me, and I finally decided I had to walk in and talk to them, arrows or not. I used a low-level force field to block my vessel from being injured. It took a lot of my energy. But anyway, once they saw I wasn't being damaged, they studied me for a moment. Then I talked in Enochian."

"No wonder they want you dead," Dean said. "They saw you were super-human."

"Yes, but Metatron had told me of this possible vessel in Africa, and the tribesman did have the symbols. I just don't know if it was a coincidence or not."

"Well, let's find out." Dean picked up his cell and dialed Bobby. "Hey Bobby, I've got something else you can research for me. And Cas." Dean snickered. "Get ready to study some pics of naked dudes in Africa. But don't enjoy yourself too much."

"Dean, you can kiss my stone-cold ass," Bobby said.

"No, seriously, we need you to study some pictures of African tribesman. Cas wants to know if anything resembling Enochian shows up on their –

"Lower left pelvis," Castiel said.

Dean cracked up. "You hear that, Bobby? It would be on their lower left pelvis. Better avoid pictures with the loincloths, sounds like you need to examine some full-frontal stuff."

"And why in the hell why don't you do that yourself?" Bobby said.

"I don't have the laptop! Sam – Sam has it." Dean said. Sam's name nearly caught in his throat.

"You know, you could call Sam, and ask him to do it," Bobby said.

"You know Sam and I have taken a break from each other. Come on Bobby, seriously, we need this for Cas. So he can figure out if he's seen God's vessel yet or not."

"What about the damn amulet? Did it light up?"

Castiel explained he didn't think the amulet would light up again until all of God's vessels were in the same room. At least that's what Metatron had said.

"Alright, I'll do it. But you guys owe me one. Talk to you later." Bobby hung up.

"Dean, why do you want to avoid seeing naked men so much?" Castiel asked.


End file.
